place at our table.”
She does not have that degree of respect for Lord Menrod that the above would indicate. He too is frequently amongst the godless, but she has learned the trick of dividing her enemies against each other, in an effort to bring us all to justice.
“They will have a long trot, for no one knows where he is.”
“Aye, a long trek, whetting their tongues like a sword all the way. Will he be carving the roast, your Mr. Everett, or will I have Pudge to do it for you, as usual?”
“Let Pudge do it. It might put ideas in Mr. Everett’s head, to sit carving the roast at the head of the table.”
“You’ll never let him sit in the master’s place!” she gasped,
“No, no—it was only a manner of speaking. Put him at Mama’s right.”
“It’s a sad and sorrowful day,” she grieved. “You’ll be a proverb in the countryside, taking your mutton with the creature. As to them steps he is destroying in the front hallway, I hope you can keep the sight from Lord Menrod, or he’ll cast you into the desert, without a bone to gnaw on.”
“Have you anymore abominations to threaten us with, or will you go now and get the dining table cleared away, Mrs. Pudge?”
She glared once, then strode off, her chin waggling about heathens coming into their inheritance.
----
Chapter 3
Mr. Everett left the next morning for London. My mother and myself spent the day on thorns, running to the front window every half hour to see if they were coming up the road yet. We began our intermittent vigil about noon, not many minutes after Mr. Everett would have reached the city.
We knew it was impossible they could be back home yet, but our eagerness would not be satisfied till we had looked out the window just once more. We were still looking long after the sun had set, in hopes of spotting carriage lights. Had it not been for the extra work around the house preparing rooms for the children, we would have been totally distracted. We roasted up a joint in their honor, then returned nine-tenths of it to the kitchen after we finished our evening meal.
Next day, the procedure was repeated, the running to the door or window every half hour. When the postman arrived, I realized what a monster of inconsideration I was. There was a dutiful letter from Mr. Everett explaining there was no Indiaman in the harbor. He would remain in London till the end of the week, awaiting the children’s arrival.
A long and expensive stay in London on the possibility that he might be required to meet the relatives of a woman who half despised him, if the whole truth were stated, I answered by return post that he must under no circumstance put himself to so much inconvenience. He was to deliver a note in person to Menrod’s London residence, and be assured it was read, understood, and that some of Menrod’s household would meet the children.
His letter posted the day before did not preclude the possibility of his arriving in person later that day. The vigil was maintained till nearly midnight. Early the next morning, it was resumed. Surely they would come today!
By noon, I never wanted to see the front window, the mulberry tree in the front yard, or the stone road down to the main road again. I took my watering can to the little conservatory that is attached to the west wing of the cottage, to tend my plants. They had been miserably neglected. Even in the moist atmosphere of the conservatory, the earth around many of them had turned crumbly from thirst. My philodendron had brown tips on its leaves, and my favorite dracaena wilted with fatigue. I put on my smock and busied myself tending my friends, filling the water racks over the fire boxes, whose function was to lend moisture to the air. I pruned and pinched and watered, losing myself to worldly cares for an hour.
There is some magical enchantment in gardening. Had Lady Anne’s cottage not had this little conservatory attached, I would never have discovered it, for I never took